“You could go when he was out.”
But Bertie shook his head resolutely.
“Why not, pray? It would do no harm.”
“I shouldn’t like to go if he hadn’t given me leave,” answered Bertie.
Queenie tossed her head.
“Who taught you to be so strait-laced as all that? Mrs. Pritchard?”
“No,” answered Bertie, slowly; “Mrs. Pritchard never said anything about it.”
Queenie looked at him, and he looked at her, his eyes dreamy and wistful.
“I think you must have been very strictly brought up,” she said, gravely. “That sort of thing would not suit me. You would have much more spirit if you were less particular. You should see my brothers. They don’t care about anything.”
Bertie did not seem convinced by this argument, but he held his peace, as he always did when not quite sure of his ground. Queenie thought she had won a victory, and said graciously,—